The Demon He Held in the Palm of His Hand
by Torti Quercu
Summary: Clint has been plagued by nightmares since the Chitauri invasion. When Natasha overhears him, she intervenes. One-shot, rated for some violent imagery, language and adult themes. Part of my Demon series.


He had the same nightmare regularly since the Chitauri invasion, it had become a regular thing. To his frustration, he had not yet become able to master it, to seize control, turn the dream around and change the inevitable course it would take. Bad dreams were nothing new to him, in fact more rare to him was a dream he could call "good", but this one... this was something different. He groaned softly as he slept, helpless to prevent his visions from progressing. He ground his teeth in frustration and twisted on his tangled sheets... watching in his mind as he slowly choked the slender white column of his partner's throat, inexorably pressing his powerful thumbs into her trachea as her wide emerald eyes looked up at him, silently, accusingly. He screamed while she didn't even fight back at him like he knew she was more than able...

As always, the sickening feel of her larynx popping under his thumbs jerked him awake, and he bolted upright with a hoarse shout. He listened to his short, panting breaths for a few moments, willing himself calm, raising his broad hands to his face to wipe the sheen of sweat from his brow. It took him only a few beats before his mind centered and he realized he was not alone in his motel room.

Automatically, his hand flew to his machine pistol on the nightstand. As his fingers closed around the grip, another hand firmly planted itself on top of his arm, curling its small fingers into the bunched muscle. The semi-circles of her nails dug into his flesh, leaving crescent moon marks, and his breath exploded out of him. "Jesus Christ, Nat," he exclaimed, instantly recognizing his partner's steel-like grasp. Neither one moved for several moments while his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Natasha was crouching beside his bed, her red hair tousled and trailing appealingly over the shoulders of a well-worn grey SHIELD t-shirt.

"Sorry," Natasha murmured, releasing his forearm slowly. "You okay? Bad dream?"

"Yeah," he grumbled as he ran his finger through his hair. "What are you... how'd you know?"

His partner lifted the sheet and slid her her long legs into his bed beside him. He flinched as her cool skin touched his, but he didn't move away. "You were screaming my name," she told him softly. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Fuck," he closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard. "No, no. It's just something I... I gotta shake off, y'know? Can't seem to get it loose. Same dream, all the time."

Natasha lightly brushed his damp sandy blond hair from his forehead, letting her fingertips trail down his face. His brow furrowed and he gave her an inscrutable look. She held his gaze. "Clint... can I help?"

He shook his head while wrapping his hands around her fingers, pulling them off his cheek. He started to slide out of the opposite side of the bed, and glanced back at her. "Turn around," he ordered, uncharacteristically firm.

She grinned at him but averted her gaze as he padded naked across the room to grab his sweatpants. "Can't handle me, can you, Barton?" she teased.

He snorted, pulling his sweats on swiftly. "I'm only human. And besides, I don't think _anyone_ can handle you, isn't that the whole point? _Chornaya Vdova._"

"Well, that's true."

He climbed back into the bed and wrapped his arms around her, and she rested her head on his chest. She could feel his heart beating, slightly too fast. "Going from trying to kill you to being naked with you in my bed is just a bit too much for me to keep up with, Tash," he chuckled.

She closed her eyes, smiling against his warm skin. "Life wouldn't be nearly as interesting if I wasn't giving you a run for your money, though, would it?" she murmured.

He laughed out loud. "You're terrible, you really are. You're a demon."

"Maybe you made the wrong call, years ago, when you didn't put an arrow through my eye."

Her tone was light but his blood ran cold. He threaded his hand through her thick red hair, and pulled her up to look at him. He opened his mouth once, twice... again, with no sound emerging. Before she could say anything, he pressed the fingers of his other hand against her mouth. "Tasha, no. _No_. Don't say that, please, God... I'm already struggling, here," his voice finally emerged, strangled. "When Loki took me over, when he... he raised his staff and said that I had heart, then he took my heart away and replaced it with these nightmares of losing the thing that was in it. That's what he did, Nat. He threatened to turn me against what's most important to me... and I'm sorry, firecracker, but that's _you_," he finished sadly.

"Oh, Clint..." she whispered back, pressing her face back down to his chest and wrapping around him tightly. "You know I'm not willing to lose you either, right? Everything that happened... Clint, it was all super heroes and otherworldly and I still can't make sense of any of it. So I focussed on what I _could_ do, and that was find you. And get you back. Leave the magic to the monsters, okay? It's the same as it's always been... just us. Us against what we both used to be, right? Us against the world."

He sighed and began to lazily rub her back with one of his strong hands, and she melted against him like a cat. "What the hell did I do to deserve a partner like you?" he breathed.

"Must have pissed someone off pretty badly," she replied, and he swatted her shoulder lightly. "Barton... do you ever wonder... do you ever want... or wish...?" her voice trailed off as she listened to his heart begin to race. She slowly sat up, looking very small and vulnerable in the over-sized grey shirt that he realized, abstractedly, was his.

His heart clenched as he stared at her in the dim light, knowing how he felt, had always felt, yet knowing what he had to say. It was impossible to lie to her, but it would have helped if she wasn't sitting in his bed, looking utterly desirable in his own clothes as he forced out the truth. "Are you asking me if I ever want you? Of course I do, more than... well, more than anything, really. Are you asking if I wish things were different? Sometimes, yeah. Do I ever wonder what it would be like if we didn't have to keep it like this? Always," he declared emphatically. "But Nat, I would never risk it. You would think less of me, and I don't ever want to let you down."

She was frowning, struggling with thoughts and emotions he knew she had a tendency to push pretty deep. Again, his heart ached. They had so many sins to suffer for, both of them, that any kind of comfort or happiness was never going to be within reach. He wished he could take it all, all the punishment for their crimes, and wipe her ledger clean. His choices had always been his own, but Natasha... not hers. She had been made into something she wasn't, and yet she still paid alongside him.

"I wouldn't make you happy, Nat," he whispered.

Her head snapped up, a fire suddenly burning behind her eyes. "Happy?" she exclaimed defiantly. "What _is_ happiness?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but she sharply slapped his knee. "Don't answer that," she huffed, "that was rhetorical, you goose. I'll tell you what makes me happy. When I'm interrogating some fat slob with questionable morals and he doesn't even know it, that makes me happy. The smell of nitroglycerine makes me happy. Busting through AES encryption makes me happy. When you sing show tunes in the shower after a perfect mission and you don't realize I can hear you... that makes me happy," her voice lowered and her eyes darkened. "When you're on the test range with your bow and I'm watching your fucking incredible arms and I can pick out your brachioradialis muscle and each flexor and extensor and it's utterly hypnotic..."

"Natalia," Clint interrupted with a warning tone, his breath quickening. "Stop. Don't do this."

"Do what?" she demanded, leaning forward, prowling. "Tell you how I _feel_? Isn't that what you were just presuming to know? You want me, you wish and you wonder, but you won't ask. So I'm asking. I'm not afraid, Clint. I'm not afraid of... of being happy," she was mere inches from his face now, and her gaze searching.

Clint choked, unable to meet her eyes. "I am afraid," he said very slowly. "I am afraid of ruining the best thing that I've ever had. You are... way too much for me. I feel like I can barely hold on to you as it is."

She was hovering so closely to him he could feel the heat radiating from her skin and her tousled red hair was brushing his cheeks. "I'm still asking," she whispered, her breath ghosting over his lips, and suddenly it really was all too much and he thought maybe he was still dreaming after all, so he surrendered and clamped his lips down on hers with a moan. She returned his kiss enthusiastically, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling herself into his lap. Nothing had ever, _ever_ tasted so beautiful, and his mind swam dizzily while pleasure erupted in the pit of his stomach. He dragged his lips from hers with a groan, and trailed kisses down her neck, moving to suckle the very same spots he had imagined crushing only minutes before. The noises she was making were driving him crazy, and he struggled to form a coherent thought. Finally he managed to get his hands onto her shoulders, and he gently pulled her away.

She made a mewl of protest, but met his forehead with hers as they paused, both breathing heavily. He spoke first, so quietly she thought she had fantasized it. "I want you. I've wanted you since we first met."

Her heart did a strange flip, and she smiled. "I want _you_, Barton. There is no one else for me. I was ruined for any other men long ago, but then you found me. And I met your eyes down the shaft of your arrow and I knew. You were there to complete me."

He reached out tenderly and brushed his calloused fingers over her lips, so she nibbled them experimentally as they drew past, causing his breath to catch in his throat. "How is that even possible?" he murmured.

She took the sides of his head into her hands, cradling him. "You fool," she replied quietly. "You spend so much time worrying that you will push me away. But you've got it all backwards, Clint. _Я демон вы держать в ладони вашей руки_. I am the demon you hold in the palm of your hand."


End file.
